


Awaken

by houndsoflove



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houndsoflove/pseuds/houndsoflove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson watches his hero sleep, and gets an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awaken

Coulson entered the room carefully and set the water pitcher and empty glass down on the bedside table. He’d considered flowers, but that seemed too much for the small square space. He crossed over to the far side and straightened a picture frame. Quiet morning sunshine filtered into the room, catching on the carpet and streaking over the bed. On top of the covers lay a sleeping man.

Birdsong floated in through the window on a crackling loop. Coulson opened the closet door, forgetting that behind was a board where coats and shoes should be. He closed it, picked up a chair from the corner and placed it next to the bed, seating himself with a cautious creak. The man didn’t stir. Dust motes caught the light around the man’s head, suspended and shivering, travelling on each gentle breath. In out, in out. His chest rose and fell. No change.

Coulson sighed and looked over at the pitcher. He was thirsty, mouth dry from excitement, but he wouldn’t drink. It was meant for Steve. Perhaps today would be the day.

He stretched out a hand and touched Steve’s arm with the tips of his fingers. Warm - a little too warm perhaps, he noted with concern - skin over muscle over bone. Real. With a quickening heart, Phil reached into his jacket and pulled his cards from his pocket. He fanned them out and held them up. _Here you are, deflecting bullets with your shield. And in this one, you’re sitting on Hitler. But this one, this is my favourite. You’re smiling out at us, saluting. It’s the best._

Had he seen the tiniest twitch of an eyelid just then? He stared hard, waiting.

Maybe not.

He sat back heavily and returned the cards to his pocket, next to the pen he would need for later.

Steve slept on, his dreams still trapped in the shadows of decades past. Phil watched over him, wondering what it would be like to awaken in a modern world turned bleaker still, to enter into it as if from uneasy drowsing into a nightmare. His heart felt heavy with pity.

Time wore on. He had taken to staring at the leaden progress of the minute hand on his watch. Still nothing. He tore his eyes away and gazed up at the ceiling. What was it, in fairytales he was read as a boy? _Awakened by true love’s kiss_. A blush rushed up Phil’s neck past his collar, his cheeks turning hot. He turned and looked suspiciously at the closed circuit camera hidden in the curtain rail as if it could read his thoughts. He glanced at his watch again and sighed. His time was almost up.

Light slanted across Steve’s face, catching in his eyelashes and in his straw-coloured hair. He was really too good to be true. _Perhaps it’ll work_ , Phil thought, _although I’m not much of a prince_. He stood and touched Steve’s arm again. The flesh dimpled minutely beneath his touch. He moved his shaking hand up to Steve’s cheek. It was terrible and wonderful. He felt like a madman who had broken into a gallery and was now recklessly appreciating priceless works of art with sweating eager hands. Feeling sick and giddy, he swooped down and pressed his mouth to Steve’s, not wanting to think about it any longer in case he lost his nerve. The kiss was tight-lipped and uneven, Phil’s heart pounding in his skull and throat and stomach and just about everywhere else. His knees knocked as Steve’s lips yielded softly before he drew away. Phil straightened quickly and he stepped back, upsetting the chair. The noise was sudden and deafening. Phil held his breath, watching. Steve’s hair had become a little dishevelled. He lay still, unmoving. He did not stir.

Phil looked down at the carpet, slowly drawing out a handkerchief to dab at the sweat on his temples. He righted the chair and put it back in its usual place. He turned the pitcher so that it was at a pleasing angle to the empty glass. He shakily brushed the mussed strands back from Steve’s forehead, swallowing down on a lump caught in his throat. Everything was the way it should be. Without looking back, he hurried from the room.

The door closed with a soft _click_.

Steve’s eyelids fluttered.

**Author's Note:**

> Sleeping Beauty Steve, haha :) Fluffyish thing written for my sister!


End file.
